


And up to the head

by imminentinertia



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-08 03:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/pseuds/imminentinertia
Summary: The worst part is when even having sex gets difficult.





	And up to the head

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Og opp til hodet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712158) by [imminentinertia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/pseuds/imminentinertia). 



> I wanted to write this because I have a mental illness myself, and I know that you can all too easily start to question you own thoughts and emotions and worry too much about whether what you think and feel is normal or the illness. I don’t necessarily hc that hypersexuality is part of Even's symptoms, but canon can be interpreted in that direction, and I think he probably worries about it.

Even rarely lets down his guard completely.

_Am I too excited?_

_Are my thoughts running too fast? Faster than they normally do?_

_Is this hypomania?_

_Is this mania?_

Like when the student film club screened The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover and Even got very hung up on it. For some reason he’d never seen a Peter Greenaway film before and he was totally hooked, downloaded everything he could find and ordered DVDs from Amazon and saw Drowning by Numbers four times in a week and felt as though he had found a an essential purpose of life, and then got stressed because it couldn’t be normal to get this excited. People with normal brain functions don’t get so hooked, don’t they?

Or do they?

He doesn’t know how a normal brain works. He realizes that much of what’s happening in his mind when an episode starts to rear its head is normal stuff, in a way, but blown out of proportion. He understands it rationally, but not with his heart, not with that part of the stomach that ties itself in knots when he’s wondering if he’s too much, too intense, too mentally ill.

He doesn’t see it in Isak. Isak’s thoughts also go into overdrive sometimes, he his thoughts too churning, but he always manages to push through eventually and sleep soundly again. He gets hang-ups, sure, and suddenly he’s playing CoD for three hours and hardly takes the time to eat or talk, but then he exits the game and cuddles up to Even and asks if he wants to go to the cinema. He can drink three cans of Red Bull in rapid succession and proceeds to breathe too fast and too heavily while writing an assignment, but then he’s done and uploads the assignment and acts cute and rubs his nose against Even’s and wants attention.

Even often feels that he can’t stop once he’s got passionate about something.

How many years has he gone on and on about Baz Luhrmann to anyone who will or will not listen, for instance.

The worst part is when even having sex gets difficult.

_Am I too horny? Am I going at it for too long? Too often? Is this hypomania? Is this mania? Am I wearing Isak down?_

He knows these thoughts are unfounded. They’ve been together for a couple of years now and Isak hasn’t shown any signs that he’s tiring of Even. Everything was fine after that first episode Isak witnessed. It didn’t stop being fine when Even had another episode last year. They can joke about what Even did both times. It's not painful when Isak drily mutters "as long as you’re wearing clothes". It’s nice that Isak doesn’t tread carefully around him, like on eggshells, that he’s joking with Even about it. About that too. They can joke about everything, and that’s one of the nicest things Even knows, that they can laugh about it.

But Isak is so _fucking delicious_ , so how is Even supposed to figure out if it's hypersexuality or just normal isaksexuality when he’s not able to simply take a look at his boyfriend without getting hard.

Even when he’s in bed, naked, Isak just as naked beside him, his brain’s gears keep turning.

Not every time. Not often, really. Maybe not even as much as ten percent of the times they have sex. But sometimes.

This has turned out to be one of those.

The struggle starts after his lunch break at work, because he happens to remember the lecture Isak gave him once − sitting naked in bed, legs crossed − about how getting deepthroated is less satisfactory for men than being orally stimulated on just the head of their dick, and he actually said _orally stimulated_. Even sometimes wonders how academical Isak’s brain is becoming. It began as a defense for Isak’s own actions; he actually has a strong gag reflex and can’t handle deepthroating at all, while Even enjoys trying to suppress his own.

It was so fucking sexy, Isak completely − well, almost completely − serious and completely − definitely completely - without clothes on.

It’s not the kind of memory you can dwell on at work, but that’s just what Even ends up doing. His mind procures that mental image and proceeds look at it over and over, while he’s steaming milk and grinding coffee beans and smiling and saying hello and goodbye and thank you a million times. Thank God for skinny jeans and aprons, and for hoodies that come down to your thighs when you're going home after your early shift.

He manages to get groceries too; well, mostly. He only forgets a couple of things.

* * *

**The man of my life**

**14:03**

 

When do you get home and can you get juice and loo rolls? Forgot to get them

 

about 16. Sir yes sir

How the fuck did we turn into that old married couple who text about loo rolls  
The next message had better be a sext

 

Sir yes sir

When did we turn into the kind of couple where sir yes sir is a sext

<3

* * *

  
The next hour Even is very good and folds laundry, less good and thinks about Isak's lips, very good and cleans the washbasin and the toilet, less good and pictures Isak pulling his t-shirt over his head, very good and makes the bed − that is, he puts the pillows in place and smooths out the duvet.

Then he lies down on the bed with a coursebook and tries to concentrate.

Reads two paragraphs. _Isak opening his belt._ Another paragraph. _Isak pulling down his pants and revealing the bulge in his black, no white, boxers._ Goes back a paragraph because he can’t remember what he’s read. Two more paragraphs. _Isak cupping the bulge in the white, no black, more subtle, boxers._ Goes back all three paragraphs because he still can’t remember a word of it. Finds a textmarker and marks something in one of the paragraphs that seems important. _Isak walking towards him, calmly and with purpose, his hand still on his dick._ Clutches the marker and has no idea what seems important in the text.

~ 0 ~

When a key clicks in door lock at 16:15 Even is worn out. He’s got rid of the jeans because they’d become uncomfortably tight, and it seems like every drop of blood in his body has ended up between his legs.

"Hey, you didn’t say what kind of juice, so −"

"Isak. In here. Now. "

Isak leans against the door frame and looks at Even, still wearing his jacket. He doesn’t smile, his eyes are flat.

Then he _notices_ Even.

His eyes widen, his face lights up.

"Helloooo. Did you miss me, baby?"

"Yes, for fuck’s sake."

Even has no patience left. He throws his book and his textmarker on the floor and gets up from the bed in one smooth motion, takes two steps to reach Isak and draws him in. Kisses his mouth. His cheeks. His forehead. His throat. Pushes the jacket off his shoulders. Pulls at him, makes him take the two steps into the room and lets them both fall down on the bed.

Finally.

Finally, he can kiss every bit of Isak his mouth can reach, he can push clothes out of the way and find more of Isak to kiss, pull his tongue over Isak’s skin, turning it from smooth to spit-damp, hairs raised. He tugs off his own t-shirt and opens Isak’s jeans, pushing them down.

He's halfway down on the floor by now, because he has to kiss Isak’s stomach, his mouth-watering stomach and that strip of hair running down from Isak’s navel. Because he has to press his mouth against Isak's dick even though there’s a pair of boxers separating his lips and Isak's skin. He just has to.

He pulls himself properly up on the bed again, nudging Isak so he understands that he has to move towards the headboard.It takes a bit of shuffling and he bangs his knee on the wall, but then they're where they should be and have enough room to do this.

He manages to pull down both his own boxers and Isak’s. He kicks his own completely off when they end up dangling around one of his ankles. Clothes are such a fucking hassle. At last, he gains access to Isak's thighs, Isak's boner, Isak's balls. He presses his face into Isak’s pubic hair, grabs his thighs and squeezes them as best he can, but his hands aren’t anywhere near big enough. Then he drags his tongue up Isak’s dick and pushes it against his frenulum.

Isak smells like warm skin, the perfume of the soap from his morning shower is gone, he smells like sex, smells like Isak. Even slides up a bit, supporting himself on Isak's strong thighs, and takes him as deep into his mouth as he can. Warm and smooth and big in his mouth. He moves one hand from Isak’s leg, folds his own thumb into his palm and grips it hard. He can feel Isak’s dick pushing into the back of his mouth. His throat tightens as if it’s about to convulse, but he wants to push Isak further down, further down, wants to swallow Isak whole and get all of Isak inside him, become one with him, one big mass of human flesh.

That's when it hits him.

_Is this hypersexual?_

_Shit, Isak didn’t even get to take his shoes off before I threw him onto the bed._

He pulls off. His jaw hasn’t even had time to develop that slight ache which always comes when he blows Isak. He gets up on his knees and sits down next to Isak.

His heart is hammering.

Isak is flat on his back, his t-shirt is crumpled up under his arms, his jeans and boxers are twisted around his ankles, and he still has his shoes on. His cheeks are red and his eyes glassy. He is hard, but he is lying quite still with his arms flung out, looking up at Even through his eyelashes.

It takes a few seconds, but then Isak speaks, his voice a little rough.

"’T would be nice if you continued that."

Even can’t. His back feels cold, his neck too, and his palms are far too hot. The heat in his body, his groin, has dissipated.

"Even. Hey."

Isak sits up and puts an arm around Even’s neck.

"What is it?"

Even moistens his lips, feeling a little warmed by Isak’s arm. Something loosens in him. Slightly.

"Do you think ... Do you think I seem too excited?"

Isak's eyes narrow and crinkle because he smiles. The planes and angles on his face look soft when Even dares to look at him.

"No. I'm not complaining."

He pulls Even into his arms, rubbing his unshaven cheek against Even’s.

"You think too much, sometimes. I'd stop you if I didn’t want it."

The stubble disappears, soft lips touching Even’s cheek instead. Isak pecks him gently, then on the corner of his mouth, then fully on his mouth.

He murmurs against Even’s lips. "Touching ground, is that what you’re doing now?"

Touching ground, assess what he’s feeling. Yes.

He breathes, as calmly as he can.

He’s been following the checklist from the psychiatrist and keeping an eye on whether things take off in one direction or another. He takes his medication. He eats quite regularly, tries to at least, and sleeps well, sometimes a bit too little and sometimes a bit too much, but it doesn’t fluctuate too dramatically.

Breathe. In. Out. Isak's arm around his neck, Isak's nose poking his cheek. He can speak again.

"OK."

Isak's mouth and smile against his cheek now.

"OK. Then I suggest you carry on. Get my shoes off, man. "

His arm stiffens behind Even’s neck, a sudden small puff of breath on his cheek.

"If you want! It’s OK if you don’t. Whatever you choose, it’s OK. You know that, right? "

Even does.

He nods, his cheek rubbing against Isak’s nose and mouth. Then he turns his head and presses his lips against Isak’s. He barely opens his mouth to touch the tip of his tongue to Isak’s lips, giving Isak a little hint that he's ready. That he’s alright.

Isak opens his mouth too, Even’s lips moving along with Isak’s, his tongue smooth and wet; and with that, the heat creeps back into Even’s body. He puts his arms around Isak’s back and hugs him, hard. He cares _so fucking much_ about Isak. He’s so fucking happy he’s got Isak.

It’s easier after that screeching halt. Even takes the time to give Isak a bit of foot massage while taking off his shoes, and Isak holds out as long as he can before he has to wriggle and laugh, because he's more ticklish under his feet than he likes to admit. Then, Even takes his jeans and boxers off, allowing himself to caress the fair, thick hair on Isak’s legs for a while. He’s almost a little disappointed when he discovers that Isak has taken the initiative himself and isn’t wearing a t-shirt anymore. It feels good, now, to take his time. To admire all of Isak, not just lick all over him at a hundred kilometres an hour. Lie close to him, stroke his skin with his palms, then just his fingertips.

When the flickering embers inside him turn into bright white heat again it’s a smoother, less hectic fire.  He hurries to fill his mouth with Isak again, to suck the head of Isak’s dick hard, to push a thumb into his own mouth to rub just under the head as he continues to suck, Isak is shuddering and moaning, his thighs hard against Even’s arms. Isak’s hands resting on Even’s head, his fingers curling into Even’s hair, carefully, without pushing or pulling at it. Isak’s hips making tiny, involuntary jerks.

The long, rough gasp and the body that's tilting upwards, the fingers in Even’s hair, the slightly dry taste of his sperm on the tongue.

Hectic again, because Even can’t take it anymore, he crawls up Isak’s body and nearly knees his boyfriend in the balls on his way, finds a space for his own dick against the soft skin by the ridge of Isak’s hip and rubs against him. He can hardly see or hear anything, but he can smell Isak and sex and all those wonderful things he’s able to call his.

He cups Isak’s face with his hands, presses his wide open mouth against Isak’s in something that could be a kiss but he's incapable of making them take on the shape of one. And comes.

~ 0 ~

Afterwards, the calmness returns. His breathing is slow and even as they wipe each other down, take turns in the bathroom, get dressed, chuck a pizza in the oven, kiss each other lightly each time they pass by each other.

He has no questions now. Not for a while.

_We just fit, together._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Lots of love to [mynameisnotthepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnotthepoint/pseuds/mynameisnotthepoint) for betaing the translation ♥
> 
> The title is from a Raga Rockers song: [Ny Dag](https://open.spotify.com/album/7Ibi9LkeqEQCdQc0OU0Uh8). I kept the title, so I had to translate the part of the lyrics I snagged it from:
> 
> It’s morning again  
> After a long long night  
> One of the best  
> I’ve had  
> Making love so strong  
> That no one will believe it  
> Ecstasy from the toes  
> And up to the head


End file.
